


Illusory

by botgal



Series: No Worse, But No Better [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beforus, Beforus Culling, Chucklevoodoos, Culling, Drabble, Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kankri's culler is a bitch, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Pale Pedophilia, basically kankri's pov, when chucklevoodoos were involved for pale things to happen, who takes advantage of her cullee, with chucklevoodoos for pale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botgal/pseuds/botgal
Summary: Is it better to wallow in misery? Or be drowned in fake happiness?





	Illusory

**Author's Note:**

> I've been stumped for writing ideas and wanted to get some creative juices flowing. So here's a crappy drabble about nonconsensual chucklevoodoo induced pale garbage from Kankri's POV.

It's... relaxing, being like this. Curled up in your culler's lap, feeling her blood pusher thump its steady rhythm with your ear to her chest. Her fingers are running gently through your hair, claws ever so careful to not scratch your scalp any more than what's comforting. She traces circles around the bases of your little snips of horns, commenting gently aloud on the very subject of their size. You, of course, agree. They are so small, just like she says. Though really your reply amounts to little murmurs of assent rather than a full response.

She's never silent, always talking in those constant, smooth, low tones of hers. The pile is never a quiet place. There's always some sound. Whether it be her words, or the gentle purrs she elicits from you with her soothing pale gestures.

You recall why you were so upset previously, but it feels so vague now. Like a piece of paper lifted up in the breeze and carried far, far away. So far it seems silly now to think that it upset you. Why would you be upset over being denied books? Why _should_ you? They're nothing, really. Just paper and ink scribbles.

Her hand lowers down, cupping one shoulder (so small it is, in her palm), then running it along your upper back. Shoulder to shoulder across the nape of your neck. You curl into her more. She even gets a contented chirr out of you. She actually lets out a gentle chuckle at that. You're so adorable. Like a happy little purrbeast, you are. Always making noises.

Now that hand is tracing up and down your back, you're purring louder. Her other hand goes around your head, pressing firm against those little points. Submission reflex. If you were any more relaxed, you may as well be melting. It's all so perfect, so nice. You can't imagine anything better than being in her arms; so at peace.

It makes her so happy, having you like this with her. You'd never want to upset her, no. She's your culler, the one who cares about you more than anyone else ever does. Or ever will.

She glances at the timepiece on a table nearby, and sits up. It's starting to get late. The sun will be rising soon. Have to get plenty of sleep so you can be all rested for tomorrow.

She picks you up in her arms and starts to carry you to the stairs. The phone rings suddenly, and she's distracted. Still carrying you, she picks it up off the wall, and tries to tell whoever called that she's presently occupied.

In her distraction, you start to stir. Some flicker of something tickles the back of your thinkpan. Something that makes you squirm a bit in her grasp as you groggily blink your eyes.

She hangs up, though, and soon you're relaxed again. Were you upset about something? You don't quite recall.

She's graceful as a dancer as she carries you up the stairs; so practiced she doesn't even jostle you. You're grateful that she's so considerate of you in so little ways like this.

Your block is warm and familiar, you know it the moment you enter.

You're laid down on your respite platform, handled gently as if you were a porcelain doll. Your culler's face lingers over you as she observes you, smiling gently. You see her eyes, note once again just how pretty they are when they're glowing in her color like that.

Her hand cups your cheek, she grows closer, and she presses a chaste, pale kiss upon your lips. You kiss back, of course. It's only right. She takes such good care of you. She deserves it. She pulls back and smiles still. Stroking your cheek with her thumb as she whispers a 'good day' to you. And she leaves you to fall asleep.

You lay there a while, gazing up at the ceiling, blissfully calm with your thoughts half full of her. Her gentle face glides across your memories and you smile just a bit.

The bliss fades away, then, and you choke back a sob. Then another. And soon you're on your side with your face buried in the pillow. Body trembling with withheld little heaves and your stomach flipping around inside you. You're scrubbing your arm against your mouth as if that will help wash away what's making you feel so... unclean. Can't let her hear you, or know you're still awake. She'll just come back. Do it all again. You don't want it, not so soon again. Just don't let her hear and you can last in your own head until the evening again.

You'd rather feel miserable as yourself, than be the happy you she molds you to be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bee tee dubs, can't remember if I've ever said it anywhere here on m' AO3, but I've said it on my blog. So I'll say it in this story.  
> Kankri's culler actually has a name n' title now.  
> Quinne Pierot. a.k.a. The Monastic  
> ... So yeah. Guess you got a name to hate her by instead of just the concept. Enjoy that or whatevs.


End file.
